MichiganJFrog.exe... 2
First story here
Greetings, friends. Or shall I say: late friends? Though not former friends. For it is getting late. Very late. For both you, and for I, and for the sustained existence of all of humanity. So terribly dreadful. It's Game Over, man. My name is Ludwig Von Koopa, and I live in a haunted tower on a haunted hill, next to some haunted woods. Sometimes, you can hear screaming at midnight. Or you might think it's screaming. But it's singing. And not from wigglers, or goombas, or koopas without a shell, or a magic stuttering gnome named Craig. No. It's about your future. It's about your kids. And it's something entirely different.
I was sitting alone in my toilet chamber playing the organ and scratching my balls when I heard my door knocker go knock-knock-knockin'. I use dollar tree money as toilet paper. I knew time was of the essence. I got up in a haze, quit tapping on my organ, and stuttering my way to the doorway, knowing that no one ever visits me because I ate all of my friends claiming that I was inviting them over for dinner. They were the dinner. Perhaps this would be new dinner. But no. It wasn't. It was not meant to be that way...
The front gate was already ajar. And by that, I mean it was creaked open. I saw sunlight—not my favorite—coming in from the outside... and nothing else. Perhaps I had been ding dong ditched by that short Italian plumber in red again. Thinking about spaghetti and pasta sauce, I slammed the door shut and headed back to the toilet chamber. I had just begun to stroke my organ when I heard knock-knock #2. Irritated and at least mildly disheveled, I put my pants back on and noticed the door had been ajar once again. I scratched my head. My fingers have sharp spikes on the edges, so it kinda hurt and I started to bleed. I started stepping back to the toiletry when I heard... a voice.
No, not a voice.
It was a... croaking.
"Ribbit", I heard in the Summer breeze, rolling off the beachen hills and into my amphibious ear canals. It must have been a frog, for that ribbit was much too highly realistic to be anything but. "Come on in!", I exclaimed, chortling to myself over the prospect of a frog leg fiesta. "Ribbit", it croaked back.
Well, that did it. I was pissed off. I could feel my eyes go bloodshot, and my organ felt flaccid in my hand. I used my unoccupied fist to swing the wooden doorgate wide open, in anticipation of strangling a frog by the throat, when...
When...
That was no frog.
It was a cardboard box! With holes punched in it!
"What the fuck is this.", I muttered under my breath. I breathed into the holes to be an asshole and see if the frog would jump out, but nothing did. I could pick up a scent from inside, though. It smelled like rotten eggs, fish guts, and a jewel eyed miscreant's broken dreams. I considered poking a spikey finger into a hole, but I was too drunk at the time and did not trust my manual dexterity. Instead, I bit off the fluffy red ribbon and chewed off the top of the box. And there it was...
A dead frog.
Someone had mailed me a dead, fucking, frog. It must have been my father, King Dad, playing a practical joke on me. At the same time, though, dinner was served. I spat the box lid back on and returned to the toiletry, in preparation of cooking up a jolly green afternoon snack.
"Ribbit." Oh, come the fuck on. Unkempt, unaroused, and obviously bloodshot eyed, I heaved the cardboardious container at the gray brick tower wall with full force. To my delight, the contents exploded. Highly realistic frog innards, a blood-stained top hat and tuxedo, and the torn up pages of a frog-sized copy of Men's Health magazine flew everywhere. "Fuck you, frog!", I yelled, extending my spikey middle finger. Now I could go back to orchestrating my penal symphonies in peace and quiet.
However, that was not meant to be. Instead, I was meant to be... horrified. Horrifibly. Cold-bloodedly.
As I returned to smack the keys of my instrument, I... I saw it there. Not a knife, or a gun, or a violent video game maligned by Fathers Against Rude Television. No.
It was a frog, wearing a top hat, tuxedo, and monocle, waving a stage cane around and... ah... singing. And here's how it went.
"Hello, my baby/Hello, my honey
Hello, my ragtime gal!
Send me a kiss by wire/Baby, my heart's on fire!
If you refuse me/Honey, you'll lose me
Then you'll be left alone/Oh baby!
Telephone/And tell me I'm your own!"
Okay, first of all, I'm a frog and he's a koopa, so no. I grabbed the frog by its scaly throat and began choking it like a chicken. "Who the hell are you, and why are you not dead?", I inquired.
I expected it to croak or maybe play dead again, but no. Listen, I know you're not going to believe me, but it... ah. Its face... got unnaturally white. It grew out strong, straight, black hair. Its full tooth grin... and those eyes! It's like they were popping straight out at me, glowing in the dark! "You laughed at me, but now I have white face paint." He did indeed have white face paint now. "I am 2 amphibians now, instead of 1! I am: FROG THE KILLER!!!"
Oh, fuck. I ran out of the toilet chamber and made way for the frontgate again, but it was knocked. I tried banging my wood, I mean the wooden door, but nothing but an ominous laugh from the forest's direction could be overheard. I... I was going to be killed. By a frog wearing white face paint. King Dad had never informed me that there would be days like these!
I... I had nowhere else to turn. Sure, I could run into the part of the tower where there was lava and spikes and walking skeleton turtles and shit, but I was never real good at jumping over stuff. More importantly, I was frozen like a hungry man frozen bachelor dinner for one. I was going to die alone. And a bachelor. And an incel.
Frog the Killer had made his way into the main corridor. Through my funhouse mirror, he distorted into different shapes of terror. A no-faced frog monster with tentacles on its back. A garden rake. A nerdy looking amphibian with rainbow suspenders and giant red granny glasses. This was terrifying. I let out a scream.
And the door somehow opened! Oh, just my luck! But I didn't want to press my luck. I didn't want a whammy. I ran through the hills, skipping over rocks and falling down once but spinning my shell back to safety. I had to make into the woods and lose him. Sure, it was a forest of illusions in which I could get lost and my surroundings would endlessly repeat. But what else could I do?
I thought I had him outpaced. But I could hear singing, coming from uphill. Oh shit. I was going to die. I just knew it.
"Hello, my Iggy/I mean Von Koopa
Ain't it time to unwind?
Playing with yourself this hour/Don't you think you might get swollen?
If you evade me/You will get rabies
Then you will die alone/Oh baby
Come back home/Join me in the netherwoooooooorld!!!!"
... Yeah, fuck you, I heard that one before. I grabbed an apple off a bush and threw it in the direction of the frog shadow. He shrieked like a little pussy and fell off, assumedly dead. I gave myself a high five, caught my breath, and hobbled back up the path back home. I really wished I had King Dad's flying clown car with me, but beggars can't be choosers. And I'm all for a beggar's banquet.
When I got back home, I played with my organ until my fingers went sore and stiff. Perhaps I just needed a little more inspiration. I surfed the web for sexy pictures of Princess Toadstool in a fox outfit when I heard a knocking on the door again. Nope, fuck that, been there done that. I couldn't trust my door anymore. Instead, I trusted my pop-up blocker. An ad somehow got threw it and pictured a mushroom lady wearing a tanuki suit, so hey, who was I to say no? Plus it came with a free virus scanner. It told me to call a number and they'd even fix my PC for free. What a swell group of guys! I picked myself up off my spiny keester and entered the digits one at a time into my 1920s-style rotary phone.
"Oh, hey, it's a-Bob from a-Microsoft", a thick Italian accent greeted me. This wasn't suspicious at all. "Is your a-PC running O.K.?" "Yeah, but I'm lonely.", I replied. "I see", he responded. I could somehow tell he was brushing a thick brown mustache. "I sent you an e-mail. Download the attachment. All attachments toast attachments." Click. He hung up the phone. Not sure how he knew my e-mail or why he ended it on a non sequitur, but O.K. I went into the kitchen to check that I hadn't left anything in the toaster. Nope, though I forgot to clean out the molten goomba corpse flavoring. I thought that you put the spread on the bread when you put it in the toaster. Shit happens.
I checked my e-mail using the screen on my smart rotary phone. Indeed, there was an attachment! MichiganJFrog.exe? Ahahaha, fuck no. I knew better than that. I pulled the phone's plug, and... well, my heart skipped a beat, unlike Britney Spears song lyrics.
All of the power in the tower had gone out! At this hour? And don't forget to plow her. I couldn't call the repairman without electricity, so I was boned to sit alone in darkness and ponder where life went wrong. Several hours passed while I sat on the floor naked, and I was feeling kinda hungry and not at all tired. I went back in the kitchen to prepare myself a late night snack.
"Spiders..." ... Okay, what the fuck. I must have been imagining things. I went back to smathering the toaster in goomba sauce. "Spiders..." Okay, that was the second time. I was clearly going insane. I spread the goomba corpse coating on the toaster with greater vigor. "Spiiiiderrrssss!"
The lights came back on.
"Here's your problem! Too much goomba flavor sauce in your toaster!", a thick Italian accent exclaimed! "But you know what they say! All toasters... toast CORPSES!".
I turned around. I expected him. That man with the red hat and the mustache. But no. No. It wasn't him. It was... it was...
"You should have gone to sleep, Luddy!" Oh, the horror! The melted white face paint, running down his amphibious little frog cheeks! I knew it! I knew it! This time... this time, I was gonna die!
"Hello, my turtle/You cleared the hurdle
And now you have to die
Throwing a fruit so high/You know how to hurt a guy!
Because you were stroking/Instead of coping
With the problems in this world/Oh baby
Now you've gone/And really pissed me off SO FUCKING DIE YOU LITTLE WHORE!"
I realized, at that moment, that I had failed. I was never supposed to open the exe. I was supposed to ruin the tower power supply, so that he could dupe me into an inescapable situation. Michigan J. Frog picked up a knife and stabbed me in the chest. The blood from my heart splurted into the toaster, and Michigan J. Frog spread it onto some Wonder Bread. "Care for a bite?", Michigan J. Frog taunted me. As all started fading to black, I could make out a little white-faced figure swipe an apple from my refrigerator, turn around... and pelt it at me. In the head. As everything I ever knew and loved and cared about came to its shocking conclusion, in my eyes...
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Credited to DaveTheUseless
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